chapter without a name

Fantasy. What is it? Is it a world we all live in? Sometimes it takes hold of you, it twists your mind, dancing dreams of desire and despair before your eyes. At others, you may know neither where you are nor where you are going, but only really that you are seeking, desperate to discover...

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It is our fantasy.

On the first day, we are dropped off in a forest. The first step is settlement. First water, then shelter, then food. We find comfort by a small babbling stream, flowing from between the rocks.

I raise a palm of water to my mouth. My eyes graze over her skin, smooth and soft below and beside me. We are in the woods.

The water is good. I hand a mouthful to her. She doesn't speak, of course. We never will. She just looks at me, and sighs gently, meaningfully. I take her in my arms and kiss, her fingers reach up to my shoulders and neck, her arms, lips, wrapping around me. Smooth. Thin. Nude. Abstinence for us does not mean from love, but only from that most and least of connections.

I lay her out in the dappled sunshine through the pines and the deciduous trees on the edge of the nearby meadow, and her arms stretch in it above her head, her body rising briefly to meet me, petite and beautiful, her small naked breasts--less than two inches proud of her chest--slim torso, wide-yet-trim hips tilted to me as they descend from the curve of her.

I speak to her, tell her how much I love her, how happy I am that she is doing this with me. Her response too is in tongues, wordless words of longing and joy, but the tone, how much it can convey. We make sweet afternoon love, in every way that counts.

Here we will make our first home together. Here we will be one, in love and life and laughter.

-

The thing about sci-fi is, it's always so sci-fi-ish. It's just a way to explain how something you think, or want... is right. And the thing about that is, the obvious thing is, that it's not necessary. The explanation is never the point of the human condition. The being is.

Action and passion. Thought doesn't appeal. The structure we need, but it's the filler we want. The life filling the branches of the trees above us. In between them. But not the branches themselves, except ... for themselves. For are they not beautiful as well?

-

In the many centuries of industrialization of our world, of cultural revolutions, of technology and distraction--and all the genetic, and other, modifications that followed--we had learned many things, and lost many others. Amongst them were our fundamental ties to nature, and the knowledge that we are still human, and that we are still human animals.

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As we move through the underbrush, I can still see clearly in my mind's eye the girl before me, thin torso, legs parted, entreating me, welcoming me, loving me. She tasted so good, so natural. I lick my lips even as she leans down to take a long post-coital drink. Her slim back is smooth and warm, and as I stroke it she purrs. Small muscles tense and relax in the sunlight.

I sit her down while I begin a first shelter, our first shelter, beside meadow and forest and stream...

But it's just a survivalist fortification, a log propped and braced in the crook of another fallen tree a couple feet above the ground--sticks laid, as if building an elongated teepee, along the length. Then detritus, leaves and needles, and finally layers and layers of grass.

She finishes the work silently as I turn to food--an easy enough make, at least, in this temperate wild paradise. But she will have to work in these first few days, the first few days of a fantasy world, and it might have killed me inside, were I not able to see what lay after. When she could do nothing but rest. When she could grow fat on my providence, bringing joy and life to us both, and to the world, with every light, every laze, every softness.

It is spring, but not long past the equinox, and the crisp of winter was still in the morning air when we arrived. But now the glorious southern, nearly subtropical, sun that is to enable our nascent, precious, brief life here together has warmed the world, and its warm dappled sunlight flecks her flesh in gold and jade beneath the open forest and young bright green leaves stretching above us.

The finished 'hut' is only a hut in the most modest sense, and as the word 'hut' already conveys some amount of modesty, you might imagine just how... cozy... is our first home. A mouth barely two feet tall and a peak less than three feet off the ground forms the base of an elongated triangular pyramidal prism on its side. All grass and twig really, with no back, no rear. No escape. But this is our escape, and we have want of no other, as we crawl in that night, naked but warmed by the fire a short distance from all our mouths.

A short giggle escapes her as I nuzzle her warmly, and then soft, quiet moans of longing, feeling, sexuality, but also, I think, joy. Joy at what is happening. Us. Together. Here. Doing this...

She fills my nose and my mind, and my fingers curl into her moist warmth. Her mons pricks my fingers a little with sharp new hairs. The same, I know, my face does to hers. My other hand misbehaves, unnoticed, rubbing her lean midriff. The food inside gurgles pleasantly.

I begin to crawl down to her, but she instead turns above me, her bare bottom waving the fire a moment before settling back above my mouth, with hers around on my hard throbbing shaft as she takes nearly every inch of me within her. I make love with lips and teeth and passion to her and her yoni. She moans, quickly warming above me in the heat of the fire, and of us. Her taste is something of God's own hand as her pleasure and sweat from her petite body begin to mix with the saliva in my mouth, and it fills me with earnestness, to be ever closer to her, breathe her in, taste her, as I pull her hips even firmer against me. My mind is filled with her beauty unheeding of fingers finding hardly flesh as they grasp and hold. Her trim abdomen rests flat and firm against my chest, her breasts her only full softness brushing lovely just below my waist. But... I can still hear her tummy. It speaks to me of things to come. Be patient, I say to it.

-

We are in the woods. Contraception is a thing of the world we've left behind for a honeymoon unlike any other. As are razors. Soap. And dieting. Here, in this paradise in the rough, we will live together, only husband and wife to the world, but man and woman in this place. Here we will make our first home, silently, only our emotions conveyed between us, only passions to guide our minds. Here we will neither speak nor adorn, neither perfume nor paint nor shave. By our genesis we will survive easily the elements, the environment, but learn to live with each other, to talk without words, to commune with each other's bodies and, through them, our minds. Here I will feed her, and here she will eat what we can gather and I hunt, and here we will endeavor, ultimately and inexhaustibly, to make her fat; and when she is--when she has become--fat... only then will we finally begin to consummate our fantasy, endeavor to create life, to make pregnant her womb with the fulfillment of our love.


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